Because it really is personal…

So, because they were wrestling and being all testosteronish (is that a word?), Terry’s arm got broke, in 2 places, requiring surgery and metal plates and large doses of morphine and percocet. I’ll be going to the hospital as soon as David is dressed to bring Terry home. Unfortunately we don’t own a recliner, so getting comfortable might be awkward.

We’ll work the issues out later, when everyone’s head is clear. Right now, I’ve got a man to take care of, egos to tend to, and a mountain of laundry to wash. plus the house smells funny and I don’t know the source of the odor. I’ve a mind to think it’s the catbox but really don’t feel like tending to that. I need another cup of coffee.

Ok, it’s 2 hours later and Terry’s home, with a bottle of percocet, a few pillows under his broken arm, and the remote. He’s already been all over the phone calling work and doing his job, alas, it’s one of those jobs that the longer he leaves it alone the moer he has to do when he gets back. Fortunately, much of the business can be done thusly.